


The ones who listen

by starandrea



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Children, Gen, Mute Runner Five, Non-Binary Runner Five, Outwalking Zombies, Season/Series 01, Survivors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starandrea/pseuds/starandrea
Summary: He hopes Janine is watching Simon’s tracker, because right now he can’t take his eyes off of Five’s route as it makes a definitive turn for the school.  “No, no, no,” Sam says.  “Runner Five, you’re heading straight for a hot zone.  You don’t want to go in there.  Trust me, kid zoms are the worst.  It’s horrible; they’re all--small, and helpless-looking…”
There’s a double-tap of acknowledgment from Runner Five’s headset and no deviation from this new and terrible course.  “Or you could do whatever you want,” Sam finishes weakly, looking over to see how far out Simon is.
He catches Janine’s eye by accident, and he gets the expression that says unmistakably, you are the worst operator ever.





	

It's not that Sam doesn't like Janine.  It's just that he's pretty sure Janine doesn't like him, and that makes sharing the comms shack for an extended period… well, uncomfortable.  More cramped than usual.  He doesn’t like someone looking over his shoulder, okay?

He doesn’t want to leave, exactly, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to.  His runner isn’t back yet, and hers just left.  They’re mostly squabbling over the audio and getting in each other’s way, but they’re all the support anyone out there has.

She’s watching Runner Five on the scanners while he takes Runner Three’s check-in: pack full, no contact.  On pace.  Gate ETA 45 minutes.

“Well done, Runner Three,” Janine says, in clear violation of operator protocol.  Not that they have an operator protocol.  But if they did, she wouldn’t be allowed to interrupt like that.  “Stay safe.”

“Excuse me!”  Sam frowns at her.  “Yes, well done, Runner Three.  Stay safe, and all that.  Would you let me do my job?”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable to tell Runner Three good work when it’s warranted,” Janine says primly.

“Hey, Sam, don’t stop Janine from complimenting me,” Simon’s voice says.  “I’m interested in her opinion.  Good judgment, that one.”

“Oh, far be it for me to get in the middle of your mutual admiration society,” Sam says.  “All I’m saying is, shouldn’t you be paying attention to Runner Five?”

Which is what’s making this worse, really: they’re watching the wrong runners.  Well, not wrong as such, but Janine likes Runner Three, and Sam likes Runner Five.  They don’t all have to like each other to work together, but it does help, and since their missions overlapped he and Janine can’t stop interfering with each other.

They might have even switched, except that Simon’s food run was already scheduled when Sam came in this morning.  Janine only showed up an hour ago, saying Five offered to do an extra tech run.  It didn’t make sense to trade off then.  

It doesn’t really make sense to trade off now, except that Sam has to bite his tongue to keep from babbling when he hears the double tap that means Runner Five is listening.  Some of them are professionals here.

Not him, of course.  Even if the biting his tongue thing was figurative.  He listens to Janine tell Runner Five to skip the school and he thinks, yeah, that’s a good idea.  Any tech there won’t be worth the potential for ambush.

Unfortunately, Janine has to go and mention the children, and Sam winces when he hears Five ask about survivors.  This is why operators should know their runners.  Simon would have brushed it off with some morbid joke.  Five wants to know how many people died.

“Mr. Yao,” Janine says sharply.  “Come here.”

“Hmm?”  He’s got Runner Three on a street cam a couple miles out; he’d think she’d be more concerned about watching Simon’s back.  “What?  What is it?”

“Runner Five’s whistling at me,” Janine says.

“Yeah, and?”  He missed most of it.  He was trying not to listen, because listening will make him want to answer.  And if Janine’s going to get them all thinking about kids, she should have to be the one to spell it out.  “What’d they say?”

“I don’t know,” Janine snaps.  “I don’t speak whistle.”

“Oh for--”  Sam rolls his eyes and bats her hands away from the mic.  “There’s a code sheet right there!  Runner Five, sorry, say again?”

He gets back the whistle for “survivors,” followed by a question signal, both of which he heard the first time.  “No,” he says, since Janine apparently can’t read today.  “No survivors.  I mean, we don’t have rosters or anything, we can’t know for sure, but it’s highly unlikely--”

The great thing about whistling is that it’s very clear over a runner’s headset.  Even when he’s talking, Sam can’t miss the signal for “scouting” and “backup.”  Another question mark, and he’s shaking his head like he’s visible at the other end.  “The only scouts who’ve been out that way were establishing the camera feed.  We don’t go searching for zombies; I mean, it’s not like we have to look, right?”

He hopes Janine is watching Simon’s tracker, because right now he can’t take his eyes off of Five’s route as it makes a definitive turn for the school.  “No, no, no,” Sam says.  “Runner Five, you’re heading straight for a hot zone.  You don’t want to go in there.  Trust me, kid zoms are the worst.  It’s horrible; they’re all--small, and helpless-looking…”

There’s a double-tap from Runner Five’s headset and absolutely no deviation from this new and terrible course.  “Or you could do whatever you want,” Sam finishes weakly, looking over to see how far out Simon is.

He catches Janine’s eye by accident, and he gets the expression that says unmistakably, _you are the worst operator ever._

“Runner Five,” Janine says, very calm.  “Better give the school a pass.  It’s been months.  Even if someone survived the initial outbreak, there’s no way they would have made it through the nights since then unprotected.”

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “That.  That’s exactly right.  What I meant to say.”

Another double-tap, but Five’s tracker doesn’t change direction.  Sam glares at Janine.  What was she thinking, sending them that way?  Five carried Molly for miles through zombie-infested wilderness.  Five and Jody both let Jody’s littlest friends jump on their beds every other morning, while everyone else grumbles and pushes them away.  Sam even suspects--though he hasn’t been able to prove it--that Five carries a tiny pocket camera to take pictures for the kids when they ask.

Five’s a softie, is what it comes down to, and Janine should have seen this coming.

“Abel,” Simon’s voice breaks in.  “What about the fire doors?  At the school?  If they were blockaded from the inside, they might hold for a while.”

Sam wants to say, _stop helping,_ except it’s as serious as Simon ever sounds, and the moment Sam hesitates he also understands.  Simon isn’t encouraging Five.  He’s trying to give them options if this turns out to be as terrible an idea as it sounds.

“Runner Five, did you get that?” Janine asks.  “The school is structurally sound as far as we know.  There will be fire doors in every hallway.  They might slow down pursuit.”

“There aren’t any cameras!” Sam bursts out.  “We won’t be able to see you once you’re inside the building!”

“Mr. Yao,” Janine says sharply.  “I suggest you pay attention to your own runner.”

Five whistles a promise to report, and Sam can’t decide between glaring at the mic and glaring at Janine.  Janine wins, if only because Five can’t actually see him.  “Hey, I have a suggestion,” he tells Janine.  “Maybe if you learned to talk to yours--”

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me,” Janine snaps.

“What tone of voice, this is my normal tone of voice!” Sam exclaims.  “Five, is this my normal tone of voice?”

“Abel, this is Runner Three,” Simon interrupts.  “I’m just coming up on Cross Street now.  You want me to reroute?”

“No,” Janine says.  “Runner Three, that’s a negative.  You’re running with a full pack and high mileage; come on home.”

“Excuse me,” Sam complains.  “Maybe we should ask Runner Three what his status is before giving him directions; did you think of that?  Three, what’s your status?  Are you, uh, running on fumes, so to speak?  How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Abel.”  Simon sounds amused.  It’s probably more because of Janine’s concern than Sam’s pretended concern, but Sam’s okay with that.  Janine just implied that Simon might be too tired to help Five, and maybe she doesn’t know any of them, because Simon is going to take great pleasure in proving her wrong.

Five whistles an all-clear before disappearing from the street cam, tracker steady and bright inside the outline of the school.  Sam sees Simon’s tracker turning right on Cross Street.  He doesn’t say a word.  Janine is staring intently at the code sheet, which is a nice thought but not exactly timely on a live run.

“All clear,” Sam says, taking pity on her.  “Five says there aren’t any zoms outside, which is something, at least.  You should probably give them a tech list, so they can be looking while they’re… um, looking.  I mean, picking up stuff while they’re… well, you know what I mean.”

“Sometimes more than others, Mr. Yao.”  Janine looks up and finally sees where Simon is heading.  “What’s Runner Three doing!”

“Just taking a little detour, Abel.”  Simon sounds easy and unworried, despite the gray figures trailing behind him.  “Picked up a couple of tails; gotta shake ‘em before I head back.”

“By running down the middle of a deserted street?” Janine asks.

“Rather not pick up any more trying to lose these,” Simon replies.  “Oh, what a surprise: looks like the school building, straight ahead!  Five, you there?”

One thing Sam will say for the runners--and he could say a lot of things, of course; they keep Abel, well, running--they picked up Five’s codes like a native language.  There’s barely a pause between Five’s double-tap of acknowledgement and Simon’s reply: “Want any help?”

Three taps for no.  They tried one tap, but it was too hard to distinguish from occasional static or signal interruption.  Five whistles another all-clear and then the signal for “found supplies,” so Sam hopes Janine knows she’s getting whatever she gets.

“Great,” Simon says.  “As long as you don’t expect me to carry anything else.  I’ll just be out here taking care of the zoms.  Take your time.”

Five doesn’t reply.  Which is fine; there’s no need to acknowledge Simon’s sometimes obnoxiously enthusiastic chatter--just Sam’s opinion--but it also makes Sam nervous.  More nervous than he already is, because he can’t _see._  Anything could be happening in that school.

Simon is leading his tails away now, and Sam catches Janine watching the camera feed.  He reaches out and switches off the mic impulsively.  “Look,” Sam says.  “Why don’t you take Runner Three, and I’ll take Five, yeah?  It just makes sense.”

For a moment, Janine looks like she’s going to argue.  Well, for a moment her expression doesn’t change, and she always looks like she’s going to argue, so that doesn’t really mean anything.  But then, to Sam’s own surprise, she nods once.  “Yes, all right,” she says.  “But you may not tell Runner Five to prioritize MacBooks.  Is that understood?”

“A MacBook Air,” Sam says.  “It’s so light you won’t even notice!”

Another “found supplies” whistle, which probably accounts for why Five’s tracker has stopped moving.  It’s followed almost immediately by “survivors.”  No question mark this time.  Runner Three is close enough to a camera that Sam can see him tilt his head, like he can get more out of Five’s whistle that way, and Sam knows the feeling.

“No,” Janine is saying as Sam flips the mic back on.  “What?” she adds, catching his expression.  “What does that mean?”

“Five,” Simon’s voice says.  “I can see movement through the windows on the west side.  Is that you?”

Three taps.

“Zombies,” Sam says, zooming in as close on a window as he can.  “There’s zombies on the west side.  Runner Five, are your survivors mobile?  Because you need to keep moving.  Out of the school, that would be my first choice, but you could buy some time by heading east--uh, left, if you're facing the back of the school?  The zoms seem to be stuck in some kind of holding pattern.  Maybe penned in by the walls or something.”

He’s keeping track of the taps as he talks: that was a yes and a no for survivor mobility, which probably means exactly what it sounds like, then another no for heading left, and a whistle for backup.  “You can’t move, is that it?  I don’t want to send Runner Three in blind, are you sure--”

But Simon can hear them perfectly well, and he’s already heading in.  He’s lost the zombies that were trailing him, but he’s bound to pick up more if the school is as infested as it looks.  “Five, I’m following you in,” Simon says.  “Same door, same route.  Hope you left it clear for me.”

There’s a double tap, and then a small voice saying faintly, “Who’s that?”

Oh god, Sam thinks.  There really are children in that school.  How did Five know?

He’s straining to hear, trying to pick up anything from Five’s surroundings, when a voice whispers loudly, “Who are you?”  It’s so close that Sam actually jumps.  Someone is right on top of them.

“Uh, hey, small problem,” Simon’s voice says.  “You know how the zoms were kind of trapped on the west side?  Now they’re not.”

Simon’s tracker is moving faster.  He’s converging on Five alarmingly quickly, in fact, probably not looking where he’s going and definitely approaching “I’m being chased” speed.  There are more whispers Sam can’t make out, but right now it doesn’t matter.

“Runner Five,” Sam says.  He’s not panicking--he’s not!--because this is all perfectly normal.  It’s under control.  “Runner Three is right behind you.  If you can’t move, you’re going to need a… and this is just a guess here, based on historic precedents, but a really solid barricade is what I’m thinking.”

“No good,” Simon’s voice answers.  “Five, how many--”

The sound of a crash makes Sam flinch, and he pulls away from the desk at the sound of the screams.  God damn it.  They all think they’re invincible, and they make everyone else believe it too, and then--

“It’s okay!” Simon says.  “We’re okay!  Everyone’s okay, see, it’s just me.  I’m a friend.  I know Five here, and we’re gonna get you out of here.  How many of you can--”

Five is whistling, a sharp attention-getting signal, but they’re alive.  They’re still alive.

“Right,” Simon’s saying.  “Got it.  You’re with me, then.  Up.  Can you carry your friend here?”

“Runner Three,” Janine says, and her voice is a lot steadier than Sam’s heart feels right now.  “Report!”

“We’re gonna move out in the hall now.”  Simon’s voice is calm and even in a way that makes it clear he isn’t talking to them.  “We’re all gonna stick together.  Don’t let go of whoever’s next to you, and don’t stop moving.  Come on now, let’s go.”

There’s banging and shuffling over the headset, and Sam is dead sure he hears groaning.  Someone is crying.  The fact that Simon doesn’t try to shush them means yes, that’s groaning he hears: the zoms are right behind them.  In sight.  In transmitter range.  They’re all going to die and it’s going to be horrible.

“It’s okay,” Simon says.  Sam has literally never heard him sound this calm.  “Keep going.  Don’t look back; there’s a good girl.”

At least he won’t be able to see it, Sam thinks.  There’s figures outside now too, gathering near the front entrance, and he manages to choke out, “Zoms at the front door, guys.  Don’t double back.”

There’s no tap of acknowledgment from Five.  He gets a whistle, though: the “no” signal, for “can’t” or “catastrophe” or just “physically impossible.”  Sam doesn’t know what that means in this context, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s saying exactly that.

“Okay, no?  I don’t know what that means.  No, you can’t go back, or no, you can’t keep going forward?  How many people do you have with you?  Do you have a clear shot at the back exit?  I’m trying to get a look in those windows, but there’s too much reflection this time of day.”

Still no tap, but there’s the whistle for survivors and a number: six.

“Oh my god, why are you answering!” Sam exclaims.  “Just run!”

He gets the “no” whistle again, but both trackers are still moving.  He can hear grunting and shuffling and heavy breathing.  He looks over at Janine, knuckles white on the edge of the desk, and they both flinch at the sound of a crash.  There’s a ringing bang, then shouting, and they can hear Simon yell, “Hold the door!  Hold it!”

That attention-getting whistle comes again, piercing over the headset, and Sam doesn’t care how loud it is.  He huddles closer to the mic, pressing against Janine’s shoulder where she leans in beside him.  His hand bumps hers on the desk and she squeezes his fingers hard.

Five is whistling for them to go on, run, keep going, and Simon picks it up.  “Come on!  Five’s got it; let’s go!  This way!”

“Five,” Sam says without thinking.  “Just a personal request here, nothing special, but don’t die, okay?  Don’t die.”

There’s an incomprehensible whistle, just the number two, and then a horrible series of thumps.  Something rattles and there’s another impact, then the shriek of overstressed metal.  Like someone’s standing next to a barricade that’s starting to buckle.

“There they are!” Janine points.  The camera at the back of the school shows the doors swinging open and children are spilling out, dirty and fragile but whole.  Still whole.

“We can see you,” Sam blurts out.  “You’re clear on the playground; go left!  It’ll keep the school between you and the zoms out front.”

Simon is in the doorway, still wearing his pack with a child in his arms, and he isn’t moving.  “Come on!” he yells, loud in their ears. “Five!”

“Runner Five, they’re out,” Sam says urgently.  “Counting six including Simon--”  And that’s not right, he knows it’s not right, but he’s never been good at lying under pressure--  “Get out of there!  Run!”

“Five!” Simon shouts again, and then he’s swinging his child to the ground and grabbing the door just as Five bursts through, carrying another child and a half-full pack.  Simon slams up against the door: it’s hydraulic, it takes agonizing seconds to click shut behind them, but it does close.  

With the zombies on the other side.

Five whistles an “all clear.”  Sam thinks that’s wildly optimistic, but he can’t help being impressed that anyone has the breath to talk, let alone whistle.  That funny “two” whistle comes again, and seeing their arms full of child Sam finally gets it: no hands free to tap.

“Yeah, go ahead, okay,” Sam says.  “Uh, still clear to your left; I definitely advise going left.”

“Counterclockwise,” Janine puts in.  She sounds calm, but her hand is still gripping his.  “Around the building; the street’s clear farther down and you can pick up Marsh View once you get around the corner.”

“Hold each other’s hands,” Simon is saying.  He and Five and one of the taller children are all carrying kids, but the other two children look too short to get ahead of them.  “Don’t look back.  There’s someone telling us where to go; they’re gonna keep us safe.”

“You’ll have to move,” Sam tells them.  “Pretty quick, I’m afraid.  I don’t think you can make the corner without the zoms on Cross noticing you.”

“You don’t have to run,” Simon says, but they’re already coming around the end of the building.  They’re all moving together, and not slower than a zombie shamble, which is pretty damned impressive.  

Not faster than a zombie shamble, either, which is terrifying, but Sam’s trying to focus on the positives.

“Do any of you know how to jog?” Simon is asking.  “It’s like walking, but you kind of skip.  Like this.”

The zombies at the front of the school are heading down the street now, slow enough to outrun but not slow enough to outwalk, and Sam tries to sound as calm as Simon when he says, “They’ve seen you.  They’ve seen you; they’re turning away from the school and they’re following you now.”

Five whistles “two” again, which is the new whistle code for “acknowledged,” and Sam should write that down, he should definitely write that down because they’re going to need it again.  

He flips to another street cam for a better view as Simon says, “All we have to do is go a little faster than them, okay?  Stay together, stay in front of me, and follow Five.”

Sam pulls up more cameras at the bottom of the screen, trying to get eyes as far ahead of them as possible.  “Just a heads-up, guys, Marsh View’s kind of a mess.  It’s clear, but it’s not pretty.”

“It’ll get them out of town,” Janine says.  She pulls her fingers away from his, and he doesn’t look at her as he puts his other hand back on the keyboard.  “They need help.”

Sam doesn’t mean to laugh, and he feels bad about it even before he hears how hysterical it sounds, and then he just feels embarrassed.  “Yeah,” he says.  “They need so much help.  Runners Three and Five, can you drop your packs without losing speed?”

“No,” Simon says, and Five’s whistle agrees.  It’s impossible to tell whether they’re too proud to do it, in which case Sam is going to kill them, or if they’d have to put down the kids to untangle the straps, in which case the zombies will kill them.

“Okay,” Sam says.  He’s trying to force his brain to do something other than stare at their trackers.  “We need to send someone out.  A decoy’s no good, yeah?  They’d have to get between you and the zoms, and you don’t have that kind of buffer.”

“They’re not going to make it to the gates,” Janine says.

“They’ll make it,” Sam says fiercely.  There's no other choice.  He's written off both runners before, but they keep coming through.

“Not at that pace,” Janine says.

At the same moment, Simon’s voice adds, “We’ll still be trailing walkers.  Sorry, Abel.”

It's the runners’ code, Sam knows: don't bring trouble home with you.  You get chased, you lose them.  You get caught, you kill them.  

You get bitten, you don't come back.

“We have guards,” Sam says.  “You have kids.  Just come in.  We’ll deal with it when you get here.”

“They're not going to make it,” Janine says again.  “What about a bike?  If we sent Ed out to pick up the littlest ones--”

“Won't help our pace,” Simon says over the radio.  “Not unless he can carry five at once.”

No decoy, no pick-up, and they're not going to make it to the guards.  So guards will have to go to them.  Sam reaches out and switches on the township’s PA system.

“Runners Seven and Eight,” he says.  Hey, his voice sounds almost steady.  Understandable, at least, and that counts for a lot.  “Report to the gate immediately for emergency deployment.  Runners Seven and Eight, please report to the gate.”

He feels Janine’s hand on his shoulder as she stands up.  “I'll get them guns,” she says.

Sam nods, because it’s all he can do.  He doesn’t make the decisions about who’s armed and when, or where their precious ammunition goes.  But if Janine says she’s going to get them guns, then Evan and Sara will leave with guns.

He makes sure they’re hearing him before he says, “Runner Three, Runner Five.  You’re maintaining your distance.  If you can stay ahead of them, we’re gonna send people with guns out to meet you.”

“Oh, we rate guns now!”  Simon sounds more like his usual self, and Sam doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.  “You hear that, Five?  I’ve never been valuable enough to bring in with guns!”

Marsh View is bad.  Sam winces as Five and Simon steer the kids through the carnage, losing ground to the zombies as they go.  They’ll have to pick up the pace sooner rather than later if they want to get out of town.  He’s keeping an eye out for gates, stairs, anything they could use to give them some breathing room without sacrificing ground, but they may have to climb.  

It’s the plan of last resort: get high enough that the zombies can’t reach you and wait for rescue.  The weak point is that it relies on someone being available to effect a rescue.  And in this case, the kids.  They’re not strong or healthy, and they’ll need a lot of help to get far enough off the ground to matter.

“Lucky?” Simon’s saying.  “Why’s that?”

“Sam,” Evan’s voice says in his ear.  He must have picked up a headset at the gate.  “I’m here.  Runner Eight’s right behind me.  What’s the situation?”

Sam doesn’t take his eyes off of the cameras, but he mutes transmission to Five and Simon to keep from distracting them.  “Runners Three and Five found children at the school on Cross,” he says.  “Six of them, all alive, heading up Marsh View with Three and Five now at, oh, it could be generously described as a fast walk?  They have seven zombies behind them moving at about the same speed.  Maybe a little faster.  They need help.”

“You want us to go into town or intercept them from the playing fields?” Evan asks.  “Sara, this is for you.  From Janine; she’s in the armory.  She’ll be back in a moment.”

Sam glances over his shoulder, just enough to catch sight of the radio rack.  Sure enough, two more runner headsets are missing.  Janine must have taken them with her when she left.  He can’t even be annoyed about it because he should have thought of that: it’ll speed them up to be supplied at the gate.

“No, I remember your first run in,” Simon’s voice is saying.  “Maxine authorized that; said you had CDC files she needed and we couldn’t afford to lose them.”

“Sam,” Sara’s voice says.  “Runner Eight here.  You want us to cover Three and Five?”

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “They’re bringing survivors up Marsh View toward the football field.  Seven zoms behind them.”

“They took guns when you ran doubles?” Simon is saying.  Sam tries not to pay attention, but Simon’s voice is impossible to ignore.  “I didn’t know that.  What, to protect you?”

“Understood,” Sara says.  “How fast are they moving?”

“Not fast enough,” Sam says.

“To kill you if you turned on them,” Simon says.  “How charming.  No, stay away from dead people, darling.  Never know if they’re going to start moving again.”

There are more voices, shuffling, and the distinctive click-click of a weapons’ check.  Sam doesn’t dare take his eyes off of Marsh View, but he hears Evan say, “Thank you, Ms. De Luca.”

What the hell is Simon talking about?  And how is Five talking back with no free hands and no whistles?  Unless Simon is a lot better at lipreading than Sam knew, and in that case, he shouldn’t be staring at Five while they’re struggling up a zombie-infested street with more than twice the weight they’ve been cleared for.

“Sam, we’re ready,” Sara says.

Sam flips open the guards’ channel and tells them, “Outgoing runners.  Raise the gates!”

“Sam wasn’t supposed to know?” Simon asks.  “Why not?”

Sam can hear the sirens through the walls as Roman replies, “Raising the gates.”

“Oh,” Simon’s voice says.  “Sorry, Sam.”

“Covering fire,” Sam says, because that’s what he always says.  Someone’s going to tell him what they were talking about when they get back.

He hears Roman give the order but he doesn’t hear it confirmed, because the sound of full automatics is deafening.  “Go!” he tells the mic, and just like that, two new tracking signals are sprinting away from the town.

Really sprinting, Sam thinks, gaze flicking between the trackers.  Three and Five are practically crawling compared to Seven and Eight’s ground-eating pace.  And there’s a single zombie on the practice field, kitty-corner to them now but it’s definitely going to fall in with the group.  It’ll bring their total number of trailing zoms dangerously close to critical mass.

“Okay,” Sam says, switching the guards’ channel for the connection to Five and Three.  He opens up all the runner headsets and adds, “Everyone should be able to hear each other now.  Runners Five and Three, you’re going to pick up another zom on the practice fields from two… say, two or three o’clock.

“Runners Seven and Eight, you’ll head cross-country for the playing fields at best speed.  If Five and Three can pick up the pace, you’ll intercept them before you get there.  Your job will be to separate the zombies from the survivors and, well… dispatch the zombies.  Any way you can.”

“They’re armed, right?” Simon asks.  “You said they’d have guns.”

“Don’t you worry,” Sara replies.  “We’re on our way to you, quick as we can.”

“We have guns,” Evan says at the same time.  “Just stay ahead of those zombies, Runner Three.”

“Yeah, so, they have guns,” Sam says.  “Which, apparently, isn’t so unusual for them.  Isn’t that right, Runner Eight.”

It’s not that he follows Five’s missions more closely than anyone else’s.  It’s just that their arrival was pretty memorable, what with the… well, everything.  And it isn’t that Sam didn’t trust them, at first, but he heard what happened at Skoobs.  He heard a lot about what happened at Skoobs.

So he kept an eye on anyone who was alone with Five that first week or two.  Just as a precautionary measure, of course.  And he’s very clear that the only doubles’ missions Five ran in those days were with Sara and Evan.

Someone gave them orders to shoot Five if they decided it was necessary.  In retrospect, Sam really doesn't appreciate that.

“It comes with the uniform, Sam,” Sara’s saying.  “Ask Five if you like.”

“Runner Five,” Sam says sharply.  “You’re falling behind.  What’s wrong?”

It’s Simon’s voice that answers.  “We’re just switching off, Abel.  One of the kids needs a break, so Five’s gonna carry her while the other one walks.”

Five whistles the code for “obstacle,” no question mark, and at first Sam thinks they’re talking about the kid.  Then he sees the fence.  “Yeah, the fence, there’s a gate,” he says quickly, scanning the length of the road.  “I don’t know if it’s latched, but if you push it shut behind you it might get you a few extra seconds.”

If they don’t lose those seconds angling across the end of the street to get to it.

“Through the ditch, right there,” Simon says.  “Can we use the cars?  Abel, are the cars clear?”

They’re planning a route, and for once they’re going so slowly that Sam can hear the decisions as they make them.  He doesn’t like it.  Slow is deadly and awful and terrifying.  “I don’t know,” he says.  “But I think so.  I don’t see any movement.”

“Yeah, just like that.”  Simon’s already steering his kids through the row of parked cars: dangerous if there’s something in or underneath them, but hard for zombies to navigate as a group.  “Watch your feet, keep moving, don’t fall.”

Five is catching up, carrying a different child and towing the littler one straight through the path Simon took.  They’re very lucky.  Nothing grabs their ankles, no one loses their balance, and if they can all stay on their feet they’ll make the gate with enough breathing room to get everyone through.

The cars don’t stall the zombies for long, and a split rail fence won’t help much.  They’re buying seconds, not minutes.  But it’s better than losing seconds, and the open fields will be a tradeoff: no last-ditch shelter, but no surprises, either.  They’ll either keep ahead of the zombies or they won’t.

“Abel,” Evan says, just as the door opens behind Sam.  He catches Janine’s reflection even before she drops into the seat next to him.  “Can you give us updates on Three and Five?”

“Yeah, right, of course,” Sam says.  He can’t look away from the playing fields.  “Uh, Janine?  You want to monitor Runners Seven and Eight?  Get them up to speed, so to speak?”

“Runner Seven, Runner Eight,” she says curtly.  “This is a rescue mission, plain and simple.  Runners Three and Five have full packs and six children, three of whom are being carried.  They have seven--make that eight zombies within twenty meters, two to go before they start drawing more by sound alone.  They're currently incapable of proceeding faster than a healthy stroll.  They rely on you to intervene.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Sara’s voice replies.  “Always nice to be needed, isn’t it, Runner Seven.”

“Wouldn’t mind being needed a little less, if I’m honest,” Evan replies.  There’s a hint of humor to his tone that makes him sound lighter than Sam’s ever heard.  “But we do what we have to.”

There’s a sound from Simon’s transmitter, and then he says, “Abel, Five wants to know if Seven just made a joke.”

Sam would like to know that too, but he can’t take it anymore.  “Runner Three,” he says.  “Should you be lipreading while you’re running from zombies?”  Janine probably finds it hilarious that he’s complaining about someone else’s lack of a focus, and he doesn’t even care.  Much.  

“Abel, FYI,” Simon replies.  “Five is giving you the two-fingered salute.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure it's Five,” Sam retorts.

“It is, actually.”  There's a grin in Simon’s voice, but then he adds, “Whoa there, kiddo.  Hang on.”

Simon’s tracker is suddenly stationary, and Sam watches in horror as Five’s starts to go backwards.  “It’s okay,” Simon is saying.  “You’re doing great.  Five, keep going.  We’ll catch up.”

One of Simon’s kids is down.  The tallest one, the one they’re counting on to carry someone else.  “I got you,” Simon is saying.  “We’re here.  Help’s coming, okay?  People are coming to help.”

Both trackers have come to a complete stop.  There’s a voice in the background, gasping, or crying maybe, almost incomprehensible, and Simon replies, “A few minutes.  They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Runner Three,” Sam says, but Simon knows.  He knows better than Sam does.

Simon and Five don’t have a few minutes.  At best they have a few seconds.

“Abel,” Simon says, very calmly.  “We’re gonna have to stop.  We need a place to hide the kids and a direction to run.”

“You’re in the middle of a field!” Sam exclaims, because he has an awful tendency to state the obvious in stressful situations.  “Right, yeah, you know that.  Equipment shed, probably locked.  Bleachers, maybe portable, might go over in a stiff breeze.  Or, you know, impact with the shambling undead.  Uh, dugouts?  The plastic ones, if you pushed them over?”

The zombies are on the field, now, and Five’s tracker has broken away--at speed--for the sidelines.  There’s a double whistle, which means two things: acknowledged, probably, and also Five’s hands are still full.  Okay.  They like the dugout idea, and they’re running that fast while carrying something.  Or someone.

“Follow Five,” Simon is saying.  “We’re gonna knock one of those dugouts over.  All of you underneath; we’ll lead the zombies away.”

“Wait, how are you going to do that?” Sam wants to know.  “Just yell, hey, follow me?  Or, you know, say it quietly, since at the rate they’re catching up to you they’ll probably hear!”

“Come on,” Simon says.  “Come on, you can do it.  Just a little farther.”

“Runners Seven and Eight,” Janine says, but quietly, so as not to distract Simon and Five.  “Three and Five are making a stand on the football field.  The children shelter while they run; I believe that’s the plan.”

Five’s tracker is coming back toward Simon--and the zombies.  The zoms are almost on top of him.  Sam is gripping the edge of the table like he can pull them back himself, but all he can do is watch.  The dugout is down.  Two children underneath, with Five’s pack lying next to one end.  Two more children are huddled next to it.

“Abel, do Three and Five have weapons?” Sara asks.

“Mr. Lauchlan has an axe,” Janine says.

“Five dropped their pack,” Sam adds, after the long pause registers.  “So I’m gonna guess no.”

Five and Simon are pushing hard for the dugout now, carrying a child each.  The zombies aren’t confused about where they’re headed, but thank god they’re slow.  Five manages the whistle for “weapons,” which Sam assumes means they’re armed after all, but he can’t guess with what.

“We’re gonna get this up and you’re gonna climb under,” Simon gasps, panting as he and Five practically run into the dugout.  “Everybody under!  Right now!  Stay quiet, stay still, wait for rescue; got it?”

Five whistles a tech pickup, which doesn’t make any sense even after Simon says, “Five’s dropping a radio with the kids.  We’re leaving our packs.  You stay here, take the axe, I’m gonna yell to draw them off.  You can’t; you don’t have a noisemaker--”

Five whistles, loud and piercing, and Simon’s caught enough breath to laugh.  “Fine!” he shouts back.  “Run!”

They’re running, all right.  Both of them.  Straight toward the zombies.  

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says aloud, because he can’t help himself.  “That’s a great plan, isn’t it.  This is brilliance in action.  Drop everything, run at the zombies full speed, and--what?  Hope they flinch first?  Because I may not be an expert in zombie behavior, but I’m pretty sure--”

“Hey!”  Simon yells.  It’s not as loud as it should be, and it takes Sam a second to realize that he must have flipped his transmitter out of the way.  “Hey, follow me!  Come on, guys, come on!  Follow me!  Got a guy, back at base, says you won’t do it!  Here, zombie zombie!  Come on!  That’s right; try and catch me!”

Sam resists the urge to turn the sound down.  It’s easier when Five starts whistling something: not runner signals, but melodic and continuous and loud.  It’s interrupted by breaths at least as often as Simon’s yelling, and that’s the only reason it takes Sam as long as it does to recognize what he’s hearing.  

It’s pop music.  Five is whistling a song from the radio.

“You can whistle music?” Sam says before he can think.  “No, wait, don’t answer that.  Kind of obvious, I guess.  But If the plan was to get the zombies to follow you even more closely than before, then I think it’s… well, it’s working?  I do feel I should emphasize that this is not your best plan.   _Not_ the best, in case that part didn’t come through.”

“They’re turning away from the dugout,” Janine says.  “Look.”

“Yeah, I see it,” Sam says.  “It’s still a bad plan.”

“Runners Three and Five are successfully leading the zombies away from the children,” Janine says, and at first he thinks she’s trying to tell him to prioritize, but when he looks over he realizes she’s just doing what he asked: filling Evan and Sara in while he stares in horror at the signals from their fellow runners.

“Abel, tell them to head our way,” Sara says.  “We’ll be ready for them.”

“Uh, guys?” Sam says at the same time.  “I think you missed one.”

“I see it,” Simon says, and he’s quiet when he stops yelling with the mic away from his face.  “I’m going back.”

Five doesn’t slow down, but their jaunty whistle turns sharp and questioning.

“No, I’ve got the axe!”  Simon yells it this time, like the words can cover the distance between them without a headset.  Or like he’s forgotten whether he’s talking to them or to the zombies.  “Keep going!”

Five keeps going.

“Guys, head for Abel,” Sam says, suddenly registering Sara’s instructions.  “Uh, Runner Five, and Runner Three when you can.  Head for Abel, okay?  Eight and Seven are almost there.  They’re… looks like a little more than a kilometer out.  Closing fast.”

They’re closing really fast.  He’s seen Sara pour it on before, but he honestly didn’t know Evan could move that fast.

“Runner Three has doubled back,” Janine is telling Evan and Sara.  “Five is on an intercept course with you, trailing four close zombies and--is that eight more to the north, Mr. Yao?”

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “Runner Five, you’re picking up more zoms from a...  mostly northerly direction.  It’s all the noise you’re making; it’s drawing their attention.”

“As it was intended to,” Janine says.  “Runners Seven and Eight, are you prepared for what may be a larger number of zombies than anticipated?”

“As long as Runner Five’s prepared to duck,” Sara says.  She sounds almost cheerful about it.  “It’ll be our pleasure.”

Sam’s trying not to think about it, he really is.  But he’s not great at being diplomatic in stressful situations--or any situation, probably--so as soon as there’s a quiet moment he says, “Did you hear that, Five?  Runner Eight’s going to be shooting at you again.  Just like old times, I guess.”

Five’s repetitive and only half-recognizable song breaks off, replaced immediately with something else.  It’s so sharp that Sam listens for codes before he catches the melody and makes a face.  “Yes, that’s very funny,” he says.

Simon’s managed to attract the wandering zombie’s attention by now, but getting the lot of them pointed the way he wants is slow going.  He’s leading them in a ragged chase across the football field, slow enough that he can aim them through obstacles instead of into them, but fast enough that he risks losing them if anything competes for their attention.

“Simon,” Sam says, while Five continues to whistle _“highway to the danger zone...”_  “I mean, Runner Three.  Five’s picking up more zombies, you might not want to get too close.  If they hear each other, they might start to--”

He doesn’t want to say it, but Simon finishes the sentence for him.  “Swarm,” he says, still fainter than usual when he stops shouting.  “Yeah.  Love it when they get all friendly-like!”

Because Sam makes a habit of listening to his runners, even when all they’re doing is making noise, he notices as soon as Five switches to _“that’s what friends are for,”_ and he thinks they’ve been overlooking a key avenue of communication this entire time.  “Five, can you actually have an entire conversation in song lyrics?”

Everyone knows Sir Elton John.  It’s not his fault that he recognizes _“you can tell everybody that this is your song”_ with the first two lines of the chorus.

“Is that your song?” Simon asks, and this time he’s shouting the words at the zombies as much as he’s directing them at his headset.  “Because that sounds like ‘Your Song’ to me!”

Oh, good, Sam thinks.  Simon gets it too.  That makes it less weird.  Probably.

Not that it’s weird that he recognizes the songs Five is whistling.  Or that he’s worrying about whether it’s weird or not.  Because he isn’t.

“What song?” Janine is asking.  “Does the song have significance?  That’s not on the code sheet.”

“Runner Five,” Sam says.  It’s talk to Five or start laughing, because they’ve convinced Janine to care about modern entertainment for probably only the second time since the apocalypse began.  “Janine would like a code sheet for your song choices, if you’d be so kind.  Actually, maybe you could make her a playlist!  She could listen to it while she’s off-duty.  You know, to study.”

“Just the list,” Janine says firmly.  “I’m sure my musical repertoire is adequate to the task.”

“Sure, yeah,” Sam says, because no it isn’t, and it won’t be long before he’s the one who has to tell her.  He might as well let her have this one.  “I’ll make a list, then.  Five can write in what they mean later.  Once everyone is back and safe.”

Five stops whistling _“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words”_ and switches to an alarmingly militant but weirdly recognizable version of _“the rainbow connection.”_  Which Sam really isn’t that familiar with--not at all--but, you know.  Muppets.

“I don’t think we’re gonna need a code sheet,” Simon says over the headset.

Five gets louder on _“the lovers, the dreamers, and me,”_ and Sam figures they pulled the mic down to whistle directly into it.  “Hey,” he says, because he has zero brain-to-mouth filter, “if I’m the dreamer, does that make Simon the lover?”

Five actually stops whistling for a few seconds, but Simon still has enough breath to laugh, so it’s not as noticeable as it could be.  Except if you’re worried about everyone dying, which Sam is.  “Five?” he prompts.  “You all right?”

“I see them!” Sara says suddenly.  “Abel, we have eyes on Five!”

There’s a double-tap from Five’s headset, a pause, and then another one.  Sam thinks the first one was aimed at him, and the second one was probably meant for Sara.  “Five sees you too,” he says, but it’s overridden by Evan’s reply.

“Confirmed,” Evan says.  “We’re also seeing a pack of trailing zombies, which is rather less welcome.”

“Looks like an even dozen,” Sara adds.  “You want me to run them off?”

“No,” Evan says.  “Abel, status of the children?  Did you say three of them need to be carried?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, then, “No, sorry.  Four.  Five was switching off; one kid, then the other.  And, uh, the third carrier--third person carrying?  One of the kids was carrying another kid.  They had to stop.”

“Sounds like we’re going to need every hand we have,” Evan says.  “We’ll need to make short work of these zombies, then.”

“Well, I do like a little target practice in the afternoon,” Sara replies.  “Five, can you lead them crosswise to us?”

“Oh, now you don’t want to shoot Five,” Sam grumbles.  “That’s good.  Very responsible of you, well done.”

“No one is going to shoot Runner Five,” Janine says sharply.  “Runner Three, have you gotten off that field yet, or is it your plan to wait there until you’ve attracted enough zombies to form teams?”

“Janine!” Sam exclaims, with what is entirely justifiable surprise.  “Did you just make a joke?  First Evan, and now you!  I could almost think this is some sort of celebration, with all the levity around here.”

“Sorry!” Simon’s shouting over the headset.  “Sorry, little busy killing the undead!  Who’s next?  That’s right, come and get me!  This way!”

Simon’s gotten frustrated with his errant zombie and solved the problem with an axe to the head.  The zombie’s head.  But he’s smart enough not to take on a cluster of three together when he doesn’t have to, and they’re following as he taunts them farther and farther from the edge of the field.

He should be immune to it by now, but Sam still winces at the sound of gunshots.

“That’s it,” Sara’s saying.  “That’s right.  One headshot at a time.”

Sam is maybe diplomatic enough not to say, _make sure you’re aiming at the right head,_ but only just.  Five is still running but it’s an easy lope now, tracker slowing as it arcs across Evan and Sara’s path.  Evan and Sara have pulled up entirely, holding their ground as they aim and fire.

Five isn’t whistling anymore.  Sam is torn between relief that there’s one less signal demanding his constant attention, and disappointment that the secret song messages have stopped.  Or not so secret, since everyone but Janine could understand them, but it was still comforting.  Nice to think there’s still a bit of fun to be had.  Even if it’s just teasing each other with pop songs.

“Well, that’s almost relaxing, isn’t it,” Sara’s saying.

Evan does the only sensible thing, in Sam’s opinion, and ignores her.  “Runner Five, you all right?” he asks.

Sam hears a whistle, but it’s too quiet.  “Runner Five, put your mic back down,” he says.  “I can barely hear you.”

“I’m all right,” Simon adds.  “If anyone’s curious.  Still got three zombies plaguing me, though, and I don’t want to get too far from the kids if I can help it.”

“We’re down to seven,” Sara says.  There’s another gunshot, and she adds, “Six.  You want to go ahead and help Simon?  I’m sure Runner Five and I can handle these last few, here.”

Sam wouldn’t call half a dozen zombies “a few,” but he’s not the one with a gun in his hand, either.   Actually, even if he had a gun in his hand he wouldn’t call six “a few,” because six is a lot.  And for once Janine agrees with him.

“You’ve still got twice as many zombies as Runner Three,” she says.  That’s as far as she gets, because Evan is already telling Sara to follow as soon as she can.

Then Evan’s tracker is moving out, presumably to circle wide around the zombies he’s left Sara and Five to deal with on their own.  Another gunshot, and Evan says, “That’s five,” just as Sara calls, “Thanks hon!”

For once, Janine recognizes a lost cause when she sees one.  “Runner Three,” she says, “Runner Seven is on his way.  What’s your status?”

“Out along the edges, Abel,” Simon replies.  “Always where I burn to be!”

Sam frowns at the mic, then glances at Janine, who looks as baffled as he feels.  

“Runner Three,” she says.  “Say again?”

“The further on the edge, the hotter the intensity,” Sara replies.

It takes Five whistling _“highway to the danger zone”_ again for Sam to get it, and he tries to hide a smile.  “Ah, right,” he says.  “The song.  Thanks, uh… yeah.  Wouldn’t have gotten that.”

“It’s from the song, ‘Danger Zone,’” he adds, when Janine just stares at him like they’re all insane.  “Five was whistling it earlier.  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What, like you’ve all gone mad?” Janine asks.  “I can’t imagine.”

“Here,” Sara says.  “Five.  How’d you like some target practice?  Gotta keep those skills sharp.  No, really, take it.”

Sara and Five’s trackers are moving, though not as quickly as Evan’s or as drunkenly as Simon’s.  They’re trailing zombies almost casually, staying ahead of them like they’re out for a stroll.  Like they’ve nothing better to do in the world than argue over who gets to shoot the things behind them.

“Because I won’t hear the end of it from Sam until you have a gun and I don’t,” Sara says.  “Do it as a favor to me, or I’m going to have to listen to his needling for weeks.  Or months.”

In the pause, Sam has time to wonder if he’s made an enemy of Sara.  Sara and Janine are close, but she--unlike Janine--has always been nice to him.  He doesn’t want to think she’d willingly kill his friends.

“That’s the most involved description of the world’s smallest violin I’ve ever seen,” Sara’s saying.  “And no, I don’t want to shoot an apple off your head.  Waste of a good apple, that’s what that is.”

Just take the gun, Sam thinks.  Sara’s not wrong.  They’re all on the same side, but he’d feel better if Five were armed right now.  That probably makes him a bad operator.

Maybe if it means being a good friend, it’ll balance out somehow.

The sound of a gunshot makes him jump.  It’s over the headsets, Five’s and Sara’s both, and it’s almost certainly aimed at a zombie.  That doesn’t make it less alarming.

Five whistles the signal for “contact,” followed by the number four, and then there’s another gunshot.  Contact.  Three left.  Five clearly doesn’t need any target practice.  Sam doesn’t know whether to feel proud, or relieved, or vaguely uncomfortable about the shared military background.

Five says they weren’t in the service before the outbreak.  Sara says the same, but she and Janine and the major are best buddies.  Maxine says a lot of people became military by virtue of being near a base when everything went to hell.  She calls it banding together.  Sam thinks the military took advantage, but no one asked him, so he only complains about it when no one actually associated with the military is listening.

“Not bad,” Sarah says.  “Not bad at all.”

Five doesn’t answer, but there’s another gunshot.  Five whistles a tally of two, and Simon breaks in.  “Hey!” he says.  “Hey, was that two?  You’ve got less than me now, come on!”

“Runner Three,” Janine says, “Runner Seven is almost on top of you.  Do you have visual contact?”

Sam rolls his eyes.  “Can you see him, she means.  Why don’t you just ask if he can see him?  Do you think someone might not understand you?”

“Not yet, Abel.”  Simon’s stopped shouting, at least, which means he’s not worried about keeping the zombies’ attention.  It probably also means he’s too close to them, and he’s definitely winded.  “The kids are staying put, but I’ll bring more zombies down on them if I keep circling the field.”

“I can see the playing field,” Evan reports.  “I’m almost there.”

“No, take some extra clips,” Sara’s saying.  “We’ll probably have to split up again, and one of you should be armed.”

There’s another gunshot, and Sam wasn’t counting but he’s pretty sure Five just reloaded.  “Runner Five, Runner Eight,” he tells the mic.  “You’ve just got the one left.  No sign of extra attention that I can see.”

“Keep it,” Sara says.  Maybe Five’s offering her the gun back?  The chance to shoot the last zombie?  Military people are weird.

“Runner Three, I see you,” Evan says.  “I’m behind you, at your seven o’clock.  Visiting team bleachers.”

A gunshot.  Evan wouldn’t fire under those conditions unless he had to, and sure enough, the sound spike shows on Five’s headset.  And Sara’s.  Sam’s squinting at the camera feed when Janine says, “Nice work, Runner Five.  You’re quite the marksman.”

“That’s my runner,” Sam reminds her.  Even to him it doesn’t feel like complaining.  More like bragging, maybe.

“Then perhaps you should consider providing positive feedback,” Janine replies.  “I’m told it’s good for morale.”

“Oh, you’re told that, are you?”  Sam doesn’t bother to roll his eyes.  “By who?  Me, I’ll bet!”

“You see the kids?” Simon is asking.  “I don’t want to veer toward them, but there’s nowhere to go in the other direction.”

“Keep going, Runner Three,” Evan says.  “As you are.  I’ll overtake you before you run out of open space.”

“Not sure that’s reassuring,” Simon replies, but his tracker doesn’t change course.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” Sara’s saying.  “We can help with the kids, at least, even if Evan gets the rest of the zombies.”

“Runner Eight, did you just prioritize zombies over children?” Sam asks before he can stop himself.  “We can hear you, you know.”

Sara sounds more amused than irritated when she replies, “Just for you, Sam, I’m turning off my transmitter.”

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims.  “How many times do I have to tell you!  Runners don’t turn off their headsets!  That’s the whole reason you have a headset in the first place, so you can talk to me and I can talk to you!”

If she answers he can’t hear her, because she’s followed through.  She’s running silent.  It’s not exactly unprecedented, especially for Sara, who thinks radios were made to be turned on and off on a whim.  Usually hers.  

Always hers, actually.

There’s a double-tap from Five’s headset, which means at least one of them is still following procedure.  Sam’s not going to ignore that.  “Thank you, Runner Five,” he says.  “I’m glad someone knows how to use a radio.”

“Runner Three,” Evan says.  “I’m going to start shooting.  Don’t change course.”

“Sure, why would I do that!” Simon’s voice replies.  “It’s not like I’m being chased by zombies or anything!”

It takes Evan four shots.  That’s all the reason Sara needs to turn her transmitter back on, because no way is she going to let him live that down.  “Runner Three, did you pick up some more zombies?” she wants to know.  “I’m sure I heard more than three shots!”

“Nice try,” Simon’s voice replies.  “Man just shot zombies off my back; I’m not about to criticize!”

“Runner Eight,” Evan adds.  “We’re not hearing you clearly out here; your headset may be malfunctioning.  Might want to get that looked at when you get back to Abel.”

“Pretty sure it’s her attitude that’s malfunctioning,” Sam mutters.

“I heard that, Abel,” Sara’s voice says.

“Oh, your radio’s working again, is it?”  Sam feigns innocence.  “I’m happy for you, really.”

“Should we split up on the way back?” Simon wants to know.  “You know Chris says they’re attracted to groups.  Four of us and six kids…”

They’re all converging on the overturned dugout.  There’s no sign of more zombies in the area, but Simon’s right.  Ten is critical mass, for zombies at least, and it makes sense to keep their groups as small as possible.

“Eight and I can take two of the children and go on ahead,” Evan says.  “But that won’t improve your situation if there’s trouble.”

“I gave Five my gun,” Sara puts in.  “And extra clips.”

“That’ll improve our situation,” Simon says.

Their packs are individually adjusted; there’s no sense in handing them off.  Which means Simon and Five will be the slowest no matter what they do, so Sara and Evan might as well take the smallest children.  Worst case scenario, they can drop the kids within range of Abel’s snipers and go back if they have to.

Somewhere in the middle of the gibberish you get when four people wearing headsets stand next to each other and all talk at once--and maybe some of that was the kids, too, Sam honestly can’t tell--Janine remembers to page Maxine.  Well, “Dr. Myers,” but Sam doesn’t even say anything because he’s so glad she doesn’t leave.  It might be faster to find Maxine and fill her in instead of asking her to come to them, but Sam is really grateful for the extra pair of eyes and ears right now.

Especially when Sara and Evan take off with two of the kids and there’s no way Sam can watch that many people run at once.

Okay, Simon and Five aren’t really running with their group.  But they’re almost jogging.  And trying to pick out individuals in a group like that, at a distance, isn’t the easiest thing in the world even when they hold still.

When Maxine ducks into the comms shack with them, breathless and quick as always, Sam is telling Five to stop showing off.  He has no idea what she hears in that, but her eyes go from one screen to another while she says, “I know it’s not Five, since it wasn’t Sam calling.  Seven and Eight are moving too fast to be injured.  So, Simon?”

“He and Five have children with them,” Janine says.  “Survivors from the school on Cross Street.  They’re mobile and apparently unscathed, but they’ll need medical attention when they arrive.”

“No one is unscathed,” Maxine says, and Sam frowns at her as she perches on the edge of the desk beside him.  “How many, and how long until they get here?”

“Hey, why do you assume I would have called you if it was Five?” Sam wants to know.  “I mean, I would have.  I would have called if it was any runner.  Because the health and safety of our runners is my top priority.”

“Yes, right after marmite and a new Macbook Air,” Janine says.

Five whistles six survivors and a 50-minute gate ETA, which Maxine, because she bothers to learn important things like how to talk to people, understands immediately.  “Thank you, Runner Five.  Are all of the survivors with you?”

Five whistles three and Sam says, “That’s ‘no’ when their hands are full.”

“Abel, this is Runner Seven,” Evan adds.  “We have the two youngest children and an ETA of 30 minutes.”

They can all hear Sara scoff.  “25 minutes,” she says.

“They’ll be malnourished and frightened,” Janine says.  “At the very least.”

“I’ll see if I can enlist some help,” Maxine says.  “Sam, can they talk right now?  Give me ages, physical condition, that sort of thing?  Or do you need them to concentrate on moving?”

“They need to save their breath,” Sam says.  “And keep their eyes peeled.  They’re not home yet.”

“Yeah, that’s not ominous at all, Abel,” Simon’s voice says.  “Thanks for that.”

“Oh, don’t whine, Runner Three,” Sam says.  “Five’s got a gun.”

“Since when do you think guns solve problems?” Maxine wants to know.

“Pretty much since dead people started spreading the zombie plague,” Sam says.  “Since the apocalypse, and the running for our lives, and the ever more creative ways I’m learning to take people’s heads off.”

“I’m six,” a little voice says, and everyone stops.  It’s coming from Evan’s transmitter.

“That’s good,” Evan says.  “How do you feel?”  His voice is just as clear, and only then does Sam realize what it means that he and Sara are carrying their kids piggyback.  The kids’ ears must be right next to the radio.

“Scared,” the voice says.

Maxine points at the mic, and Sam waves her toward it, leaning out of the way.  “That’s understandable,” she tells the mic.  “Scary things are happening.  It’s okay to be afraid.  Are you hurt at all?  Or sick?”

“No,” the little voice replies.  “I’m hungry.”

They’re probably starving, Sam thinks.  They may literally be starving.  He wonders if they were living out of the school’s vending machines.

“Well, we have food here,” Maxine is saying.  “We’ll get you something to eat right away.  What about your friends?  Are any of them hurt?”

“No,” the voice says.  “The teachers said we’d be safe if we stayed inside.”

“And look at that,” Sara’s voice interrupts.  “You are.  You’re safe with us, and we’ll get you food and a good night’s sleep.  All of you.  For now, can you watch over that way and tell Evan if you see anything?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam murmurs to Maxine.  “We probably shouldn’t get the kids upset while the runners are, you know.  Running.”

“You too, sweetie,” Sara’s saying.  “Can you look over the other way and tell me if you see anything moving?  Just keep your eyes out, that’s all.  We’ll be home soon.”

“That’s fine,” Maxine whispers.  “I’ll get basic first aid, and vitamins, and I’ll see what Jody can come up with for comfort.”

“Maybe Ed, too,” Sam whispers back.  “He knows what it’s like for kids out there.”

“Yeah, good idea.”  Maxine slides off the desk just as Five’s transmitter comes alive.

It’s the signal for report, followed by a question mark, and that’s a good question.  Normally the runners check in every ten minutes, but Sam hasn’t broken radio contact with Five since they turned for the school.  It’s quieter now, but how much more does he need to know?

“Go ahead, Runner Five,” Sam says.  He catches Janine’s eye when she nods.  Really, the reports that say nothing are the best ones.  “We’re listening.”


End file.
